


Belle Speaking

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [30]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Awkwardness, Friendship, Grief, Library, Rumbelle - Freeform, apology, pre rumbelle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-04-06
Packaged: 2018-03-21 07:46:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3683961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An incident interrupts an attempted apology.<br/>Set after "Women Who Pity Old Men"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter mentions previous minor character death.
> 
> Pairings for this verse: eventual Rumbelle and Swanfire.  
> Warnings for this verse: abusive relationship, implied non-con situations, child-abuse, violence, infidelity, very anti-Milah.
> 
> A HUGE THANKS to Maddie (maddiebonanafana.tumblr.com) who did the beta for this one-shot!

Belle paid the price for running in the rain. The next day, she woke up with a clogged nose and a sore throat. Add to that the feeling of humiliation and the overwhelming guilt and she was off to a bad weekend.

She thought that, when the week started, she’d feel better, but her cold refused to go away – not that she’d dare consider taking a few days off. Regina had finally stopped calling every other day and dropping by unexpectedly to see if she could catch her doing anything inappropriate. There was no way she’d close the library for a couple of days and give the Mayor the satisfaction of lecturing her on her responsibilities.

At least her good behavior was being somewhat rewarded. The library was getting a landline (strictly for business calls, as Mayor Mills had stressed), which may not sound like much, but Belle took it as a sign that maybe the library wouldn’t be completely forgotten by the Mayor’s office after all. So Belle put on some extra make up to mask the fact that she had barely slept all weekend and showed up earlier on Monday to oversee the installation.

Whenever Leroy peeked from under her desk and asked, “Is everything alright, sister?”, Belle nodded and replied, “I’m  _find_ ,” even though her eyes were red and she had her nose buried in a paper tissue. She wanted to remain optimistic. Now the library would have a phone. Maybe she could even set up a website and a Facebook page by herself.

The best part was that she could use her work and her sickness as an excuse to stay in doors and avoid accidentally running into Mr. Gold. Belle knew she’d have to face him eventually, there was no way around it, but she’d delay that moment as much as she could. If she met him on the streets, she had no idea how she’d react to him. Or, more to the point, how he’d react to her. Would he even acknowledge her now? Maybe he’d just ignore her and keep their relationship strictly professional, like he did with most people.

Not that she could blame him. Good intentions didn’t make up for invading other people’s private lives. She wasn’t family. She wasn’t even a friend. She was just the brat he knew growing up. He felt sorry for her because of Moe, and sorry only changed into guilt over the way his wife had treated her. That wasn’t a friendship.

He needed her, of course, but now he had the library up and running. He didn’t have to put up with her anymore. And now he had every reason not to.

As if to prove that point, Mr. Gold walked into the library nearly a week after their last encounter, his steps stiff and his chin held high. Belle still hadn’t decided on the best course of action, having spent most of her time either managing her cold or the library and dedicating as little time as she could to the subject of “What will I do if Mr. Gold shows up?” So she stared at him. Wasn’t the best response, but that was all panic would allow her to do. At least she was smart enough to look down at the crumpled tissues on her desk when he looked back at her.

His cane tapped towards her desk and her heart started racing. Should she look up and pretend nothing was wrong? Maybe she shouldn’t. Better keep her eyes down and wait for him to say something. Or keep her mouth shut either way. She had said enough.

To hear him give up and limp towards the books was a relief.

For the next fifteen minutes, she paid close attention to the sound of his steps, playing several scenarios in her head, one worse than the other. He’d look at her with absolute disgust. He’d start screaming at her for something random. He’d come up to her desk and calmly tell her he had spoken to the Mayor and her services would no longer be required. His wife would take over the library now.

When Mr. Gold finally did approach her, Belle jolted on her chair at the sound of his voice and didn’t hear a word he said.

“Come again?”

He sighed and she could tell he was annoyed at having to repeat the question. “I asked if you can tell me if you have a psychology section, or something of the sort.”

Belle risked a glance up. Fortunately, he had his eyes on the desk as well. For all the annoyance in his voice, he didn’t look angry. If anything, he looked as uncomfortable as she did.

“What are you-” Belle started asking, but a coughing fit cut her off. When it was over, she rasped, “Sorry,” in that wet, bruised voice that felt like would never leave her.

To her surprise, he said, “That’s a nasty cold you’ve got, Miss French.”

Belle glanced up. Mr. Gold had his eyes on her, concerned. She lowered her eyes again and offered a neutral, “Yes, well.”

She scribbled a number on a piece of paper and slid it to his side of the desk. “Here you go. It’s with the other medical books. It’s really small, though,” she said. Pronouncing the Ms properly was a struggle, but she did her best. When he didn’t move, she added, “You can use the catalog.”

With that said, she went back to checking returned books.

He didn’t say anything, but didn’t take the reference either.

Belle heard him sucking in some breath, as if to brace himself, and she had the feeling he was going to bring up what had happened the week before.

The thought of it brought panic to her mind. She wasn’t ready. She was tired, overworked, and, on top of that, sick. She could barely breath properly, let alone have a discussion.

When the phone rang, Belle got up and answered it after the first ring, telling Mr. Gold, “Just one moment, please.”

He looked at the phone, then at her, and his chest deflated at the missed opportunity.

Belle cleared her throat and didn’t look at him. Instead, she tried to focus on her father. Moe had always taught her to put on a big smile whenever talking to clients, even through the phone.

“They can hear it in your voice, Princess,” her father would often say.

Belle didn’t know if that was true or not, and her throat burned like hell, but she did as he had taught her. Her voice was only a husky sound, but she tried to make it cheerful and full of energy when she picked up the phone and chirped, “Game of Thorns, Belle speaking.”

Mr. Gold’s head snapped up and he stared at her. Belle couldn’t see him, but she could feel it. It was such a piercing gaze that she turned back to face him again and she had no idea why his eyes were slowly growing in size. She also had no idea why the person on the other side of the line wasn’t saying a word.

It was only later that she understood. Mr. Gold looked terrified because he  _knew_  what was going to happen. He  _knew_ , long before Belle even noticed her little slip, that she was going to start crying. Which was a relief because, when she did – when she realized what she had said, and she thought of herself working in the flower shop, and the smell of dead flowers, and her father – he was quick to take the phone from her hands and bark “Call later!” to whoever was calling ( _God, please, don’t let it be the Mayor!_ ).

“It’s alright,” he whispered, as she covered her mouth with her hand and her chest started heaving. He looked at the table right behind them, where five teenagers were doing their homework and Mr. Walter was sleeping behind a large book. No help there.

Thankfully, Dr. Hopper walked in with an oblivious smile and a cheerful, “Afternoon, Belle.”

“You need to take over,” Mr. Gold announced, as discreetly as he could.

Archie looked at him, then at Belle, sobbing into her hands. She was trying not to make a lot of noise, but everything is noisy in a quiet library.

He asked, “What’s going on?”

Mr. Gold grabbed his sleeve and pulled him to the other side of the desk before he could protest. “You need to take over. She’s sick.”

“But I-”

“I’ll take her upstairs and then I’ll help you close- _Okay_!” he said, when she went limp by his side. He wrapped the arm that was holding the cane around her waist and kept her upright. “Okay, I got you, my dear.” To Archie, he said, “Just fifteen minutes. If my wife comes looking for me, tell her I’ll be right back.”

Changing his cane to the other hand, he pulled her away. Belle didn’t resist and allowed him to take her home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of verbal child abuse.

For a small man with a cane, Mr. Gold was surprisingly strong, and Belle was grateful for that. She could barely feel her legs as he practically had to carry her upstairs. She dropped on the couch as soon as she was close enough to it, and he still had to give her a little push to make sure she didn’t flop on the floor.

“There you go,” he said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Belle didn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything but that overwhelming grief.

She wasn’t ready for it. She thought the worst of it was done, that all there was left was that aching nostalgia she felt sometimes when she was reading her mother’s book, or watering the plants in her apartment, just the way father taught her to.

This was more than an ache. This was raw pain, made even worse because it was so sudden and unexpected. It took over her mind, reducing her to sobs and tears and tremors.

“Do you want me to call Ruby?” Mr. Gold asked. “Or anybody else?”

Belle knew she had to stop crying. She was more than aware of how bad that looked and that she was keeping Mr. Gold from much more important things, she was sure. And she had a library to watch over.

“Oh, god,” she cried, moving fast on the couch, pushing her hands down on the cushions and shifting her hips, but unable to get up. When she spoke, her words were wet and on the verge of panic. “Oh, god, the Mayor is going to kill me if I close early.”

There was a little more pressure on her shoulder, though that was unnecessary. She had no strength to stand up.

Mr. Gold said, “She’s out of town and Archie can handle the library.”

“He shouldn’t have to,” she panted.

“Nonsense, he loves to be helpful. I’ll go get you a glass of water, but you have to promise me that you won’t try to run, alright? I’m an old man and I can’t outrun you with this.” He tapped his cane.

Belle sniffed and said, “You’re not old.”

If he was taken aback by that last comment, it didn’t show in his voice when he dead-panned, “How nice of you to say it. Stay here.”

He limped to the kitchen.

Belle slipped out of her heels and curled her legs under her body. For comfort, she grabbed a cushion and squeezed it in her arms. She thought of telling him where the glasses were, or even that she wasn’t thirsty, but she had no strength to say another word. He found the right cabinet in the first attempt, though, and came back shortly.

“Here you go,” he said, handing her the glass.

She couldn’t will herself to move.

He sat on the coffee table in front of her and insisted, “Drink, my dear, it will help you calm down.” He pressed the glass gently to her lower lip. The coldness gave her a startle, but it was enough to make her take the glass from his hand. The first sip went down hard, but after that she drained the water quickly.

He kept a finger at the bottom, as if fearing she might drop it at any moment with those shaky hands. When she was done, he got up and took the empty glass to the kitchen to wash, dry and put away.

Belle couldn’t tell him to just leave it, or thank you, or anything. She hid her face in the cushion and counted to ten slowly, listening to the sound of her own breath. What a pathetic sound that was. One breath in. Three sobs out. One breath in. Three sobs out.

“I am being silly,” she mumbled to herself, face still buried in the pillow. “It’s been two months.”

“It hasn’t been that long ago,” Mr. Gold said, letting her know that he was sitting in front of her once again, on her coffee table, probably waiting for her to get a grip on herself.

Belle lowered the pillow, but she kept her eyes on the mascara smudges on the fabric. Lord, what did her face look like? She was probably a mess.

Mr. Gold took the handkerchief out of his breast pocket, but instead of offering it to her, he leaned forward and dabbed the tears away himself. Belle let out a short-lived chuckle to cover her embarrassment, but didn’t fight it. After the glass, he probably thought it would save them time to take things into his own hands.

He retrieved with a quiet, “There you go.”

She squeezed the cushion harder and said, “I am so sorry.”

“No need to apologize.”

“I don’t even know why I’m crying,” she confessed.

“He was your father, my dear. I understand.”

She sighed. “We weren’t close anymore.”

His reply was short. “So?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “I don’t remember crying this much for my mother.”

He seemed to consider that. Then, he said, “You know, I was sitting right there when I was mourning  _my_ father. Not on the same couch. Yours is actually much better. But anyway, the same place.”

She waited for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, she asked, “Were you close?”

“No, he hated me.”

That made her look up.

He shrugged, as if to say he was sorry for the blunt honesty.

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Belle said, not because she was really sure, but because that’s what you’re supposed to say to such things.

“He was pretty vocal about it, actually,” Mr. Gold said. “Regardless, I sat there and I wept like a child. “

“Why?”

“Beats me. I suppose that, sometimes, we just need to get something out of our chests. And I suppose there was always a part of me who thought that, one day, we might mend things. Now I knew it wasn’t possible.”

She nodded slowly. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel like a wasted eight years in Australia. I could have come home once I got my degree, but I was too proud. I didn’t want to give my dad the satisfaction of proving him right.”

“What do you mean?”

Belle shrugged, ready to dismiss the topic altogether, more to save him from hearing her whine than anything else. However, Mr. Gold held his gaze until she continued.

“He was never very supportive of me moving away,” she said. “He thought my life would be better spent here.”

“I never got that impression,” Mr. Gold replied, frowning. “If anything, he was always boasting about his daughter, who was studying abroad and making her life out of this cow town.”

Belle looked skeptical. “It wasn’t what he said to  _me_. To me, it was always, ‘Princess, you can always come home if you’re not happy’. Or, ‘Princess, you don’t have to stay at your uncle’s now that you’re done with college’. Or, ‘How about that Gaston, Princess? He’s a nice  _mate_ ’.”

Mr. Gold tried not to laugh, but couldn’t. That was a perfect impersonation of Moe’s voice, down to the thick Australian accent he couldn’t always mask.

She laughed shortly, then rolled her eyes. “Anyway, that’s what he used to say to me.”

“Well, I never tell Bae how happy I am that he’s in New York,” Mr. Gold said. “But you know I cannot shut up about my artist son.”

Belle smiled. “And are you happy he’s in New York?”

Mr. Gold shook his head, uncompromisingly. “As much as a father can be. I wish he was here with me, but he’s much better off in New York. He’s got better opportunities there.”

“Well, I didn’t,” Belle retorted. “I was just being stubborn. All I’ve got were kangaroos. And a dozen other things that could kill me.”

He chuckled.

“Most of them before leaving the house.”

The chuckle turned into laughter, which he quickly covered with his mouth and apologized for.

But that didn’t bother Belle. If anything it made her smile a little.

“Yes,” she said. “Australia can be quite  _intense_.”

“Sounds like it,” he replied, still fighting back chuckles.

Belle put both her feet on the floor and pushed herself up. Mr. Gold reached to hold her wrist, to help her keep balance, but she was feeling much stronger.

“If you excuse me, Mr. Gold, I need to-” she pointed at her face, or better, the mess of tears and make up that was her face right now.

He nodded, “Of course.” And Belle expected him to give her some excuse as well and leave. But she could feel his eyes on the back of her head until she closed the bathroom door.

Belle splashed cold water on the face, which didn’t help much where her appearance was concerned. According to the mirror, her mascara had streamed down her cheeks along with her tears and there was snot coming out of her nose. Her cheeks and nose were very red, and putting on lipstick that morning had been a mistake, because her mouth was swollen and the color was smudged all over her chin.

Taking a make up remover tissuefrom the cabinet, she rubbed herself clean thoroughly. Then, she blew her nose until there was nothing left. When she looked in the mirror again, she was still far from looking good. Those bags under her eyes were a stab in her vanity. But at least the mess of colors was gone.

Mr. Gold hadn’t moved from his spot on the coffee table when she came out of the bathroom. However, he seemed too busy rubbing his bad ankle to notice her. Belle knew he truly didn’t mind helping her, but she still felt guilty. All the carrying her around was probably terrible for his leg.

She opened her mouth to say she was sorry. What came out was, “I’m sorry I pried into your life.”

She stopped on her heels and his head snapped up, as shocked as she was at the sudden, and frankly unplanned, apology.

“I’m sorry I was rude,” he replied. “I was angry at Bae and took it out on you.”

“Still, I was out of line.”

He shrugged. “You meant well.”

“I did. And I meant it. You can count on me, if you ever need anything. I mean, you’ve been helping me a lot since I got back, so it’s only fair.”

He tried to argue, “Miss French, I-”

She scoffed and crossed her arms. “Mr. Gold, I think you saw me cry enough times to earn the right of calling me by my first name.”

That made him smile.

He pressed a hand to his chest and declared, “Rumple.”

“What?” Belle asked, frowning at him.

“You can call me Rumple.”

“What is that short for?”

“It isn’t really-”

“No! Don’t tell me, let me guess!” She sat back down, her sadness momentarily forgotten at the prospect of a guessing game. “Rumple… stiltskin.”

“My father didn’t hate me  _that_  much.”

“Okay, then Rum…bert.”

He frowned his nose at her.

“No? Then Rum…ford.”

“Not even close.”

“That’s all I got.”

“Malcolm.”

“Okay, if you’re going to cheat, I’m not playing anymore.”

He laughed.

“I’m serious. It was my father’s name. Though ‘Rumple’ is also my father’s fault, more or less. He was always giving me a hard time because my clothes were always rumpled.”

“What, they don’t make Armani for children?” she teased.

“Can you believe that?” he replied, making her giggle. “I was a wee child with clothes that were too big for me. My father was a disaster at buying clothes for children. But he was never very good at taking responsibility for things, so he just said I was a rumpled little thing.” He paused. “An  _ugly_  rumpled little thing, was what he used to say. But his sister was much kinder to me, and she told me there was nothing wrong with being a little rumpled. And then she started calling me Rumple so she wouldn’t have to call me by his name, which annoyed him so very much. I suppose Rumple stuck.”

“And don’t you mind?”

“No. My aunt never meant any harm. And I do like it better than Malcolm Junior.”

He pronounced that name with such disgust Belle didn’t doubt it.

“Do all your friends call you Rumple?”

He thought about it. “Milah does, unless she’s really cross with me. Emma and her parents call me Rumple. Regina does it when she wants to be annoying.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of the Mayor. “I don’t have a very large circle of friends, come to think of it.”

“You got one more now, Rumple,” she said, rolling the R a little to see if she could make him smile.

He did. “Thank you, Belle.”

“Though, I do think Rumpelstiltskin is quite a charming name.”

“I pity your children.”

It was doubled in laughter and sitting closely in the living room that Milah found them. Knocking would have given them a heads up, which was probably why she simply opened the door and barged in. The noise didn’t make them jump, but their smiles died quickly when they saw who had come in.

“Hey,” Mr. Gold said.

“Hey,” his wife answered. She was making an effort to keep her face and voice neutral, but Belle could hear a little hint of anger under the surface.

“I told Dr. Hopper I’d be back in-”

“I got tired of waiting,” Mrs. Gold said, curtly.

“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Gold,” Belle said. “I felt sick and Mr. Gold offered to help me-”

“Are you feeling better now, Belle?” she asked, without her husband’s warmth.

“I am, I-”

“Then you won’t mind if I take my husband back.”

Belle felt the urge to say she wasn’t keeping her husband hostage, but she knew that was only because she was worked up from all the crying. Instead, she said, “No, not all.” She turned to Rumple and said, “I’ll can get you that book you needed-”

“I’m actually in a hurry, so,” Mrs. Gold cut in.

“It’s alright,” Rumple said, getting up with a painful exhale. That leg was probably killing him. “I can get it some other time. Thank you, Belle.”

She waited for him to move in the cramped space before getting up herself and following both him and his wife to the door.

“Thank you for your help,” she said, holding the knob and watching Mrs. Gold move quickly away from the apartment and towards the stairs, but her husband lingered.

“No problem at all. Do you want me to tell Dr. Hopper to close-”

“Malcolm,” his wife said, as if yanking a leash.

Rumple looked at her and said, “Yes, dear, I know. Just one moment.”

“I’ll be down in ten minutes. Can you tell him that, please?”

“Of course.”

Mrs. Gold came back the few steps and held her husband by the hand. “Darling, we  _really_ need to leave.” To Belle, she said, “Good afternoon, Belle.” And started pulling his hand. He struggled to keep the balance with the cane, but managed to limp away without stumbling on his own feet.

Belle wanted to say something else, to delay his departure for a little longer. She didn’t like the idea of him leaving with his wife, not when she was barely containing her anger. Maybe a few moments was just what she needed to calm herself down. But she couldn’t think of anything. Instead, she kept her ears attentive to the noise of their steps on the stairs, ready to run after them if Milah pulled too hard and her husband stumbled down the steps.

**Author's Note:**

> A list of all one-shots in verse chronological order can be found here: http://annievh.tumblr.com/post/102166515522/behind-closed-doors-warnings-domestic-abuse
> 
> I'm still taking prompts for this verse if anybody wants to send them.
> 
> I'm also doing a ASK MY CHARACTERS (annievh.tumblr.com/ask).


End file.
